


After The Call

by paraboobizarre



Category: The Following
Genre: Barebacking, M/M, Massage, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 12:09:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paraboobizarre/pseuds/paraboobizarre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They get a call from Roderick to be ready in six days. They each deal with it differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After The Call

“Okay. Yeah...mhmm, okay. Yes, I'll tell him...okay, see you then. Bye.”  
Paul puts down the phone and smiles at him, childish delight flashing in his eyes. He saunters back over to where they were eating just minutes before, a strange swagger in his steps that Jacob has never seen before. It's kind of funny, oddly hot looking at the same time.  
He pushes around the rest of his salad in his bowl, looking up at Paul quizzically.  
“Who was that?” He asks, watching as Paul casually leans back in his chair and spins the cell on the table.  
“That was,” Paul begins, drawing out the 'a' in was, before taking an exaggeratedly long pull from his beer, “Roderick. We're on in six days.”  
Jacob almost chokes on a piece of tomato.

Sleep doesn't come easy that night, nor, for that matter, on any of the following nights. Lying in bed, Paul rolled up next to him sleeping like a baby, Jacob's mind is running in overdrive, bombarding him with one worst case scenario after the other. The cops come and see right through them. They steal into Sarah's bedroom and in front of the closet there's a group of cops, waiting for them. They steal into Sarah's bedroom, she screams bloody murder, they get shot. They get caught trying to smuggle her out of the house and get shot. Bang. 

Paul doesn't seem fazed by any of it. If anything, he seems more upbeat and happy than he was in quite some time and Jacob can't help but take it a little personal.  
He hates these petty feelings, the resentment creeping in and setting up shop at the back of his head. Every joke Paul makes, every time he laughs, the voices set in, nattering on and on like a group of old gossipy ladies and Jacob can just about hear their knitting needles clacking as they pluck up every little thought that skitters across his mind and put it under their damn microscope. _See how happy he is now that there's light at the end of the tunnel, that he can finally get away from you? How can he be so happy at the prospect of kidnapping someone? Psycho, psycho, he's a psycho_ , they all twitter in some kind of perverse round. _And you lived with him for three years! My oh my, what a burden that must have been on him, look at how relieved he already seems!_

After three days it gets so bad he can hardly stay inside the house anymore. Everywhere he turns he sees constant reminders of what's about to happen and no matter how hard he tries to distract himself, his thoughts keep circling around it like vultures over a carcass.  
Paul's behavior does not make things any easier. He's chipper, bordering on slightly maniacal, whistling to himself all the time and having the time of his life. It's scary, off-putting and infuriating. It reminds Jacob of the night they kidnapped that girl; that same giddiness vibrating through Paul now, perverse delight dancing in his eyes. 

It all comes to a head on the evening of the third day after the phone call. They're over at Sarah's, drinking wine and chatting when Paul steers the conversation towards films and how they really should go see a movie again sometime soon. The tree of them. How about this Friday? They could go have a few drinks afterward. 

Friday is in three days, Friday is the day Roderick told them to be ready. 

Paul tells Sarah about this great cocktail bar a friend at work told him about, real lounge style, nice and comfy sofas, great music, too, but not so loud you couldn't carry on a decent conversation. Plus, the tapas are to die for!

Sure, and after the movie and cocktails they could go home and stab her a little. How about it, Sarah? You game? Jacob scowls into his wineglass, torn between disgust and a sickening kind of admiration for Paul. 

His disgust gains the upper hand the moment Paul pulls out his phone and calls to make reservations. Friday night, around ten-ish would be great. Three people under the name of Thomas. Next he pulls up the cinema's website to look at movies and play times and Jacob suddenly can't stand being in the same room with Paul anymore. Muttering something about not feeling too well and needing some fresh air, he beats a hasty retreat. 

It's a long time before he feels ready to return to the house again. He finds Paul in the bedroom, already in his sleeping shirt and boxers, propped up against a stack of cushions, fiddling with his tablet. He raises a questioning eyebrow when Jacob comes into the room but that's all he gets in terms of acknowledgment. Still, Jacob can feel Paul's gaze following him as he pulls off his shoes and hangs up his jacket, his eyes boring into the back of Jacob's head until he closes the bathroom door behind himself to wash up and get ready for bed. He can't brush his teeth forever though, has to face Paul again and it's a conversation he's already dreading.

In theory, it shouldn't matter how Paul behaves now. Sarah is dead, she just doesn't know it yet. Paul making stupid pretend plans and carrying on as usual is good, prudent even, especially considering the way Jacob is folding under the pressure like a cheap suit. Still it _feels_ wrong. Paul shouldn't be so happy. Or so Jacob reasons with himself while he flosses until his gums are irritated and bleeding in an effort to play for time. Deep down he knows that at least part of his resentment stems from the fact that Paul can so easily pull off what he is obviously incapable of. 

Paul, love-sick, puppy dog look Paul, the biggest sap on the planet and Jacob watched him make weekend plans with Sarah, tease her and ask her about his brother's pregnant wife, call her “auntie Sarah”, when not half an hour before that he was sharpening his hunting knife in the kitchen, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of anticipation. It's that part of Paul he has so conveniently ignored for the last three years. It's the Paul from the shipping yard, stabbing the girl in the trunk like it was nothing, laughing and joking about it afterward, totally drunk on it. It doesn't really feel like the Paul he spent three years of his life with. It's not his Paul anymore and Jacob hates himself most of all for ever being so blind.

Paul is studying the screen intently when he comes out of the bathroom and Jacob treads so lightly, irrationally afraid that something he could do or say, could set Paul off. It's only when he sits down on his side of the bed, that he hears Paul put away his tablet and the rustling of sheets as he moves. 

“Jacob,” Paul tries, his voice unnaturally quiet and low so Sarah won't accidentally overhear him. He scoots closer to sit behind him, his hand coming down on Jacob's shoulder and Jacob can't quite mask how he flinches away from the touch. Paul notices, he can tell by the minute pause in his movements, before he leans in closer again, rubbing Jacob's shoulder and up into his hair, running his fingers up against the grain. It makes goosebumps pop up along his arms but he'll be damned if he gives into this right now. It's a cheap trick and they both know it.

“You're being really off,” Paul tells him quietly, the heat of his body bleeding into Jacob's back as he crowds even closer, “and what's worse, you're being _really_ obvious. Sarah already asked me about you.” There's a hint of a warning in Paul's voice, a hard edge that's not usually there and it makes something inside Jacob sit up and take notice, but it's gone as suddenly as it appeared.  
“Try not to worry so much,” Paul whispers into his ear, his lips brushing against the shell of it, “you can't wig out on me now, this is a two-men-job, okay?”

Paul's flat palms spread on Jacob's shoulder blades, covering them and then his thumbs dig into the tight muscles there. The pain is sharp and sudden, Paul's fingers seemingly hitting both nerves spot on and Jacob's head falls forwards like someone cut the string keeping it upright, a deep groan slipping out as the initial pain peters out into something that's not quite relief but awfully close. 

“Okay?” Paul urges, his fingers digging in again and Jacob just about manages a weak nod. His tongue suddenly feels too big for his mouth, his whole body so very heavy it's hard to stay upright. It's so easy to let Paul pull off his clothes and lay him flat on his stomach on the bed. 

He hears Paul walking around their bedroom, the whisper of his clothes as he takes them off. A drawer opening, then another as he's looking for the oil slash lube thingie they keep around. Jacob can't guarantee he'll be awake anymore, if Paul takes any longer. All those sleepless nights spent worrying and staring at the ceiling, cursing Paul for his nonchalance, are taking their toll now, his entire body feeling like it's been filled with lead and sharp, spiky things that hate him. Eventually the mattress around him dips as Paul gets onto the bed. He sits down on the swell of Jacob's ass without any preamble and Jacob pulls a pillow up into his face, knowing full well that this is going to hurt. 

The cap of the bottle snaps open, then shut, Paul's warm, slippery hands brushing over his back seconds later, across his shoulders, spreading the oil. It has some kind of weird coconut scent that always reminded Jacob of the summer holidays he would spend at his parents' beach house, just with his mum and she would rub sun lotion on his bare freckled shoulders, always telling him to stay in the shadows. Not that he ever did. 

He groans around a mouthful of pillow the moment Paul digs into the same spot again, a flash of white hot pain zigzagging down his spine and yet Paul keeps digging in, rises from where he's sitting to put his weight into it and just when he thinks he can't take any more, the pressure suddenly diminishes and Jacob breathes a sigh of relief.  
Normal times, Paul's massages are the stuff raging hard-ons are made of but this is just torture. The only reason he endures it now is because he knows that once Paul has bored down into every place he hurts, he will feel like someone melted all his muscles and bones and poured them back into more pleasing shapes.

“Man, you're tense,” Paul informs him quietly, his fingers digging into the muscles around his shoulder blades and it hurts so bad it feels like Paul is trying to peel the bones off his back. Between pathetic moans and whimpers Jacob manages to squeeze in a scoff. He's supposed to crawl through a hole in the wall into Sarah's bedroom in two days time, kidnap her, stuff her into a car and drive off, all the while the place will probably be crawling with feds. So yes, you could say he's a little tense. Not everyone can embrace his inner little psychopath the way Paul does. 

Paul keeps kneading his shoulders, down his arms, down along his spine, working out his various kinks and aches and it sometimes it hurts so much Jacob tears up, gasping into his pillow and clawing at the sheets, fighting the urge to tell Paul to stop. It's worth it every time though, the muscles getting softer and more malleable under Paul's deft touches, heating up until it feels like Paul is spreading glowing coals under his skin, the fire slipping down his sides to pool in his belly and sink between his legs, his gasps turning into soft moans every time Paul runs his hands down his back. 

Paul's flat palms stroke down from his shoulder blades to the small of his back in one smooth glide and Jacob can't help but push his hips up into the touch and back down, rubbing his half hard dick against the mattress. Above him, Paul chuckles quietly under his breath, his fingers, slippery with oil, rubbing down the crack of his ass, teasing at his hole. He bites at Jacob's ass, teeth worrying the skin just enough to make it sting as the first finger pushes in and Jacob gasps, his cock twitching between his legs. Paul takes his sweet time fingering him and by the time his third finger is just barely brushing up against his prostate, every breath leaving Jacob's body loses itself in a soft sigh, his hips moving to push up against Paul's finger and back down, rubbing himself against the sheets till he feels hot all over, his hole clenching around Paul's fingers. Paul kisses the small of his back languidly, lapping up the sweat gathering there, before he pulls out his fingers, placing one hand on Jacob's rear to keep him on his back.

They have done it like this a few times before. It's different but still good; with Paul on him, pressing him into the mattress, Jacob's whole body moving with his thrusts until he's clawing at the sheets, those confusing sensations of always too much and too little at the same time. He doesn't want that tonight though.  
Turning on his back quickly, acting on impulse rather than anything else, he pulls Paul down to face him, their mouths slotting together perfectly. A surprised noise escapes Paul, getting smothered in the kiss, but he goes with it nonetheless, fumbling for the lube between the sheets, the fingers of his other hand trace the outline of Jacob's lips and Jacob curls his tongue around it, tasting coconut, licking and biting at Paul's finger till he hears him gasps, until all he can taste is pure, unadulterated Paul.

“What's gotten into you?” It's hushed, but Paul's voice has tipped into that low, craggy register and Jacob's heart skips a beat when he watches Paul lick his finger without even noticing. He shrugs, not wanting to explain that curiously irrational urge to see Paul's face this time. This feels like it is important but he can't put the right words to it.  
So instead he grabs the lube and squirts some into his palm and reaches for Paul. Paul's whole body seemingly melts towards him as he strokes him slowly and Paul bites his lip, trying so hard not to just push into his hand but failing utterly, when Jacob runs his fingers over the leaking tip, curling them around the head and teasing along the sensitive underside, where the skin is so unbelievably soft it's still hard to believe it's part of Paul. 

He lies back down again, that other body following him like a shadow, as if they are connected by unseen cords that are there nonetheless and they never let them drift apart too far. When Paul lies down between his splayed legs, hitching them up around his hips, kissing him again, Jacob could almost fool himself into believing that this is the Paul he remembers spooning up to the morning of the call, the one that smells like home and sleep and all things safe, not the one who's so excited by the prospect of violence he forgets everyone around him. 

Paul pushes into him, the slow, steady pressure bending Jacob's head back as he feels the familiar burn, his breath leaving him in a rush. Even after all this time this is still the part where sometimes he just wants to push Paul off, because there's always a sting there that is not just a physical thing and letting Paul in so completely sometimes hurts more than he thought it would.  
 _Enjoy it, who knows when you get to do this again,_ something spiteful mutters in the back of his head but it loses its voice as soon as Paul bites lightly at his jaw, breathing _you feel so good_ into his skin. 

It's slow and unhurried, their bodies moving against one another, getting so tangled Jacob finds it harder and harder to tell where he ends and Paul begins. His pulse throbs in his head, mixes with the sound of Paul's strained breaths in his ear, mouth smearing kisses against Jacob's neck and he rolls his hips up into Paul's thrusts, letting lights explode behind his closed eyes every time Paul hits that special spot inside him, making his breath hitch and his legs tighten around Paul's hips, pulling him closer.

Every time Paul moves above him, his stomach brushes against Jacob's leaking cock and it's never enough but it feels too good to reach down and jerk himself off yet. He buries his fingers in Paul's hair, angling his head down for another kiss, feeling it turn from languid to heated, Paul's flat palm brushing up his side, blunt nails scratching on the way back down again, before Paul cups his ass, pulling him into his thrusts and Jacob's vision turns white at the edges as Paul starts moving faster, pleasure mixed with just enough pain rolling through him like a wave and he claws at Paul's back, feeling his toes curl as his orgasm builds. Paul's wet, panting breaths rush against his ears, only bits and pieces of what he whispers into Jacob's ear, _you feel so good, so hard, let me hear you, getting close_ , audible over the thrumming in his own head. 

He licks the shell of Paul's ear, whispers, _God, I love the way you fuck me_ knowing the effect this will have on Paul and getting off on his pleasure. Paul groans, his pace picking up, fucking him harder. Jacob wedges a hand between their bodies, his breath shuddering out of him the moment he brushes his fingers against his cock. He's so hard it almost hurts, any substantial touch threatening to send him over the edge. 

Swiping his fingertips through the precum beading at the tip of his cock, he skims his fingers down over the head, teasing himself rather than jerking off, his entire body tightening every time he brushes against that sensitive spot just under the tip, feeling heat sink down between his legs and Paul pulls his hips up further, slamming into his prostate on the next thrust and Jacob's back arches off the bed every nerve in his body suddenly on fire. It takes only a few more gentle touches before it all comes to a head inside him, spilling over, warm liquid webbing between his fingers, streaking against his belly as he strokes himself through it, feeling the pace of Paul's thrust falter as he tightens around him. Paul's breath stutters out of him, his hips snapping against Jacob's ass, grinding into him as he comes, sighing his pleasure into the crook of Jacob's neck and he can feel Paul shiver above him right down into his own bones.

Paul hums in satisfaction, pushing in once more, riding out the last wave of his orgasm and Jacob can feel the smile on Paul's lips against his before they kiss one last time. He wills away the shivers as Paul pulls out to roll on his back next to him. It's too easy to give into the allure of the warmth of his body and roll over, lay his head on Paul's chest and listen to his heartbeat slowly getting back to normal. Paul's fingertips start into a meandering path up and down his back and everything is just perfect in that moment.

And then the voices come back, warbling up to a panicked crescendo in his head.  
 _So, this was really nice, wasn't it?_ Clack clack go the knitting needles. _More like making love than anything else, if you ask me_ , and they twitter the way old ladies do. _Oh my! Too bad we can't tell Emma. Ooh no, mustn't ever do that. He's not gay, remember?_ They giggle in their knowing way. _Might be just as well, who knows if he even survives this, right? Oh yes, if anyone dies it's him, what with Paul and his stupid need to protect you, right?_ They trail off, losing themselves somewhere inside his head and in that moment it's like the vague thought that has been plaguing him ever since that phone call, suddenly gathers mass and sits right on his tongue, ready to come out. 

They should just leave, right now, tonight, pack a bag, empty their accounts, get in the car and drive off, let someone else get killed over this insanity. He doesn't want to lose this, whatever _this_ is and he doesn't want things to change, he's not good with change. He wants Paul and this stupid, ill-defined feeling between them that feels so much like what it can't really be.

Behind the thin wall in Sarah's apartment music starts up, Pink singing “Let's get this party started” and then the well-known rattle of Sarah's closet doors as she pulls them open, undoubtedly getting ready to go to work. She is singing along with it, slightly out of tune and Paul stretches next to him, his lips brushing a smile against Jacob's forehead.  
“Two more days,” he whispers, excitement so clearly coloring his voice it cools down the room around Jacob and the words shrivel up and turn to ash in his mouth.


End file.
